


In Loss, Love

by Gremkt



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Canon compliant trauma, Carver and Alistair are both bi because who’s going to stop me, Carver suffers with the blight for a bit, Friends to Lovers, Grey Warden Alistair (Dragon Age), M/M, Relationship Development, The Grey Wardens, Warden Carver Hawke, i guess?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:33:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26294935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gremkt/pseuds/Gremkt
Summary: Carver’s expedition to the Deep Roads doesn’t exactly go to plan when he contracts the Blight and ends up with the Grey Wardens. As Carver becomes more comfortable with his new life, he finds himself also getting more comfortable with one of his fellow Wardens...
Relationships: Alistair/Carver Hawke
Comments: 44
Kudos: 45





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Full disclosure, this chapter is almost entirely just about Carver, and Alistair gradually starts to make more and more appearances in the following chapters!
> 
> Most of this chapter isn’t particularly fun for Carver, FYI, in case that’s upsetting to anyone. He’s kind of suffering but it’ll be ok in the end

Everything hurt.

That was all Carver could think about right now, the burn of his own tainted blood running through his veins, the ache in every part of his body as the world began to blur around him. His head ached with the effort of focusing on his surroundings as the corruption inside him spread, taking over more and more of his body with every step he took. 

He took another deep, rattling breath, grasping for as much air as he could. It wasn’t enough but his lungs didn’t feel like they would hold anything more. Garrett was solid beneath him as he leaned more heavily on his brother's shoulders, his body not having the strength to hold itself up, to do anything more than force his feet to keep stumbling forward. 

Anders was confident the Wardens had been in this area, that if they were to find them anywhere, it would be here. Carver was becoming less confident that they would find them and that he would survive long enough to see it. 

_Mother was right,_ he thought to himself, the thought pushing its way through the fog in his mind. _I should have stayed home._

But staying home had never really been an option, not really. He and Garrett had worked so hard to get here and he’d fight the Maker himself before he let his brother go without him while he sat safe and useless in Kirkwall. 

He tried to think about what the future might hold. If they didn’t find the Wardens, it was certain, every step already bringing him closer to death. If they did… who knew? The fog in his brain made it hard to focus on the idea, the thoughts escaping every time he tried to grasp them again.

 _Unpleasant and irreversible_ , Anders had said.

But then, so was death. 

“Hold on, Carver,” Garrett said as Carver coughed. “Anders?”

Carver didn’t hear the rest of his question, his brain struggling to process the sound. Whatever it was, Anders answered, but again the words blurred together. 

“...here for a moment,” Garrett said, lifting Carver’s arm from around his shoulders as he helped him sit by the wall. He pulled his staff from its position on his back as he strolled away. Carver tried to watch him, his head falling back against the wall, too heavy to hold up. 

The sounds of fighting filled his ears, the twang of Varric’s crossbow, the familiar crackle of magic. His fingers twitched, wanting to reach for the sword he still carried, to help, somehow, in any way he could. And then Garrett was back, pulling him to his feet again as they stumbled forward. 

“I thought you were done fighting darkspawn,” a voice said, one he didn’t recognise, or at least one he didn’t think he did. In his current state, who knew? 

“I came looking for you,” 

“The boy as a recruit?” The speaker continued but the words were a fuzz in Carver’s brain, as was Anders’ answer as their conversation continued. 

“Garrett,” Carver mumbled through a new wave of pain and Garrett murmured something with a comforting rub of Carver’s back. His touch just highlighted how wrong everything felt with Carver’s body.

“This one is worth your time,” he heard Anders say and with whatever focus he can muster, he feels a little flattered to know that the healer views him that way. Unless he’s just trying to make sure they take him. 

He misses the next words, all of them apart from the phrase _‘death sentence_ ’. He can’t quite bring himself to care about that. A death sentence can’t be any worse than how he feels now. But the man seemed serious, and a momentary feeling of doubt tried to force its way through the haze. 

“Are you sure about this?” Carver asked, hoping the words are coherent enough for Garrett to understand. Carver isn’t sure, but it doesn’t matter. He’s not capable of any kind of decision right now, all of his energy focused on trying to keep himself upright, forcing his lungs to keep taking in air, to be aware of the things around him. 

“If this is the only way you may live, then it has to be,” Garrett says, and Carver can’t be sure but he thinks his brother’s voice sounds a little choked up. 

“We must move quickly,” somebody said, the rest of his words trailing off. Maybe they only were to Carver.

“Then…” Carver paused with another shaky, strained breath. “I guess this is it. Take care of mother.”

He wanted to say more, to say something to Garrett, some kind of goodbye, but nothing came. And then somebody was lifting his arm, moving him away from his brother. His body was floppy, limp, every movement causing pain. 

It was all he could do to turn his head to look back at Garrett, at Varric and Anders, as the wardens carried him away. 

Everything became even more of a blur after that, just step after step after step as he stumbled along, focusing on keeping his breathing somewhat regular, trying to breathe away the pain. The group of Wardens talked among themselves, or at least he thought they did. They may have spoken to him but he was almost past caring, past understanding. 

Carver didn’t know how long they walked, time losing meaning along with everything else. But it seemed the Wardens knew where they were going, and he found himself stumbling up a set of stairs and into the bright light and fresh air on the surface. 

It hurt his eyes and he winced despite his relief at the fresh air he had almost given up on ever breathing again. 

“Just a little longer,” somebody said in his ear and he blinked towards where he thought the speaker may be, groggy with pain. “Stay with us, ok?” 

“Trying to,” Carver said, but he didn’t know if the words managed to leave his mouth or if they stayed stuck in his head, floating around in the fog. 

Somebody helped him to the ground, propped his back up against something solid. It hurt to move but he tried to look around anyway. It seemed they were at some kind of camp, tents around them. He thought there were trees around but raising his head to look properly was beyond him, even if he had been able to focus his eyes on them. 

People were talking around him, their voices loud, every incomprehensible word a dagger to his pounding head. Somebody knelt beside him, a hand cupping the side of his face to tilt it up. 

They said something and Carver forced his eyes open. He hadn’t realised they had even closed in the first place. Brown hair and vallaslin floated in front of his face and he smiled. 

“Merrill?” He knew it wasn’t her, but it was all he could focus on. The pain was beginning to fade in favour of spreading numbness throughout his body. He felt like he was floating. 

“He doesn’t have long,” said the speaker, still holding his face. “We may still lose him. You’re sure this…” The words trailed into a jumbled mess, continuing. Why were they talking so much? Something pressed against his lips as his head was tilted back as his mouth was flooded with something thick and foul tasting, an acidic metallic taste that coated his tongue. 

“Drink,” somebody said softly and Carver did his best. It must have worked because his mouth emptied, but the taste remained, thick and unpleasant in his mouth. 

The pain that had started to fade returned, intensifying, spreading through his limbs like fire. It filled every part of his body and he found himself longing for the numb floating, the heaviness in his limbs and brain, that had replaced the initial pain.

It was a relief when the pain stopped and everything went dark.

*

“He’s coming to,” a voice said, disturbing Carver as he tried desperately to cling to sleep. “Are you with us?” 

“Go away,” Carver mumbled, burying his face back in the pillow as he tried to swat the speaker away. Garrett always tried to wake him up too early, and no doubt the bloody dog would have a tongue in his ear but right now, he ached like he’d run for miles the day before. He wanted to rest, even if the pillow scratched his face and the bed was uncomfortable. 

“Well, he’s alive at least,” another voice said.

Some part of Carver’s half asleep brain registered the lack of familiarity in the voice and eyes flew open, wincing in the sudden light filtering through the canvas roof. Two men sat watching him. An elf and a human.

The tattoos across the elf’s face seemed vaguely familiar, though he couldn’t place why. They were different from Merrill’s. He thought he liked hers better. 

Both of them wore blue and silver armour, a griffon emblazoned across both chest plates, and memories rushed back from the day before. Carver gasped for a full breath of air, his hands gripping the bed beside him in anticipation of difficulty that didn’t come.

Breathing didn’t hurt. 

It wasn’t difficult.

The two Wardens still sat, watching. 

“How are you feeling?” The elf asked him and Carver took a moment to think, to try and unpack how he was feeling, at least as much as he could when put on the spot like this. 

“Hungry,” he said, and it was true. He felt like he hadn’t eaten in a week. How long had he been unconscious?

The human Warden laughed. 

“You’ll fit right in,” he said. “Welcome to the Wardens, we’re always eating. You’ll get used to it.” 

“Speaking of…” the elf said with a pointed look at his companion, who sighed. 

“ _Fiiine_ ,” he said, “I’ll go and find him some food. There won’t be a shortage of it around here. I’ll even try to get the good stuff, important to start with a good impression and all that.” 

Carver and the elven Warden watched him go before the man turned back.

“Do you have a name? Your Joining was a bit of a rush so we didn’t get your details. We weren’t even sure you were going to make it.”

“I’m Carver. Carver Hawke,” he said. “When was that? When I did your joining thing?”

How long had it been since he left his family? Would Garrett be home yet? Did his mother know her son wasn’t coming home?

As he waited for an answer, his thoughts returned to how he felt. The pain was gone, the struggling, the feeling of death and corruption, but… _something_ was still there. Something… odd and hard to define. He shook his head, trying to clear it. 

An awareness was nudging at the edges of mind and he wondered if that was a Warden thing, the same way Anders seemed to always know when they were approaching Darkspawn. Surely there were no Darkspawn around now? If he could sense them, surely the other 

“Welcome, Carver,” the man smiled. “I’m Warden-Commander Mahariel. You’ve been here for two days now.” His warm smile dropped a little, worry clear in his brown eyes. “You survived the initial Joining, you wouldn’t have made it this long if you weren’t going to, but by Falon’Din, we weren’t sure you’d wake up. We thought the sickness might still take you, Warden or not, you were so far gone.”

“Guess it was your lucky day to find us.” The other Warden’s voice announced him before he reentered the tent, bowl of something hot in one hand, loaf of bread in the other.

Carver blinked at him. 

“I nearly _died_ ,” he said. 

“Ah. Well. Yes. Maybe not so lucky then.” The man’s ears turned pink as he passed the food to Carver. His stomach rumbled embarrassingly loudly as the smell reached his nose and he grabbed the offered bowl, gulping it down. 

“You’ll find you’re more hungry now you’re a Warden,” the Warden-Commander told him, watching him eat. “Especially so as a new Warden. Do you know much about us?” 

Carver paused eating just long enough to shake his head. The food was good, hearty and filling, but he was so hungry that he probably would have eaten anything put in front of him.

“Only the stories,” he said, mouth full of bread. “My friend was a Warden but he never wanted to talk about it. He’s the one who helped find you.”

The Warden-Commander’s expression stiffened slightly. 

“Yes. We heard Anders was involved in your recruitment.” He sighed. “I hope you know this isn’t a simple path he’s set you on.”

“My other path was dying in the Deep Roads, so… I’m sure we can make it work.”

The other Warden laughed.

“He’s got a point, Ellas,” he said. “I like him already”

Warden-Commander Ellas Mahariel rolled his eyes at his companion. 

“Of course you do, Alistair,” he said, “and that’s lucky because I’m leaving him in your capable hands. Try not to drive him mad.” He turned to face Carver more directly. “This is Senior-Warden Alistair. He’ll help show you the ropes, make sure you have everything you need, answer any questions while you adjust and so on.” 

Carver looked curiously at Alistair who gave him a bright smile in return. 

“I’ve been told I’m an _excellent_ teacher,” he said. “You’re in very capable hands, promise.” 

“I’ll find you later,” the Warden-Commander said to Alistair, pushing himself to his feet. He said something in a language Carver couldn’t understand and he wished he’d spent more time with Merrill, had spent more time taking in the elven language. “A Dalish blessing,” he elaborated. “May the Creators guide your way.”

“Ah. Well. Thanks,” Carver said, wiping the bowl clean with the last of his bread. Despite the food he had just eaten, his stomach still grumbled. He wondered if there was more food anywhere. 

The Warden-Commander paused at the entrance to the tent, looking back to where Carver sat. 

“Welcome to the Order, Warden Hawke.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **ETA:** [a ficlet featuring Anders comforting Hawke as he deals with his feelings back in Kirkwall about this decision, if you're interested!](https://kirkwallgremlin.tumblr.com/post/615822877929979904/stay-with-me-tonight-from-soft-angst-starters)
> 
> A couple of things:  
> The title is based on the Warden motto - I wanted to use that concept but then I got super stuck thinking of what words to do and eventually it just became an “eh it’ll do” thing 😂 I tried to catch any mistakes but if I missed any, I tried ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ 
> 
> Hopefully Carver feels like...well, Carver. I love him but I also feel very much like I’m still learning about him 💕
> 
> I’m aiming for 4 chapters altogether but it may end up being 5 depending on how many words it takes to write all the parts i have planned and where things take a natural break. Currently there’s just over 10k words written. 
> 
> [Come find me on tumblr at kirkwallgremlin!](Http://kirkwallgremlin.tumblr.com) I love getting messages or hearing about your thoughts and headcanons <3


	2. Chapter 2

“You hungry?” Alistair asked, eyes dropping to the now empty bowl Carver held as he sat in the tent. Carver hesitated. The answer was yes but he didn’t want to make a first impression by trying to eat the whole camp out of food. Alistair raised an eyebrow at him. “Well, I am. Are you coming or staying here by yourself?” 

Carver scrambled to his feet, blushing when he realised he was shirtless, wearing only a pair of rough pants that weren’t his own. 

Alistair cleared his throat, tossing something to him. A shirt, also not his own. 

“You had all kinds of grime and darkspawn  _ stuff _ all over you when they brought you out of the Deep Roads. The commander thought it would be best to get you out of them. I’d be grateful if I were you, that stuff starts to reek after a while. You’d have woken up gagging.” 

“Thanks,” Carver said, pulling the cloth over his head. He decided he didn’t want to know exactly who had changed him - the idea of his new commander doing it was embarrassing, but somehow it was less embarrassing than the idea of it being Alistair removing his clothes. 

Alistair’s eyes flicked up and down the length of Carver’s body and he felt himself blush again. 

“We’ll have to get you some armour,” he said. “But first, food.” 

It was hard to tell how many Wardens were in the camp as Carver followed Alistair though. The actual campsite itself was small, but there was no way of knowing how many people shared a tent, how many groups may be in the Deep Roads like the group Anders had found. Did they stay in there?

A fire burned in the middle of the camp, the wafting smell of food making Carver’s stomach grumble loud enough that he was sure Alistair - and likely any other Wardens around - probably heard. 

“Go on, sit.” Alistair gestured to the ground as he filled another bowl, passing it to Carver when he was sitting. “Here. It’s nothing fancy but it’ll fill you up.” 

The bowl was half empty before Carver realised the other man was just sitting, watching him eat. 

“Where’s yours?” He asked, trying to swallow the lump of meat already in his mouth. 

“Not hungry. I already ate,” Alistair said with a shrug, his expression freezing as Carver raised an eyebrow at him. “I… well, you looked like you were going to say no, and you needed to eat. I had to get you out here somehow. I remember my Joining, I think I ate half a cow in one sitting and probably half a field worth of wheat as well. Ellas won’t be happy if I let you starve because you’re too stubborn to admit you're hungry.”

He took the now empty bowl and filled it again, tossing Carver more bread while he did so. Carver hesitated, his heart wanting to turn it away while his stomach urged him to eat.

“So, what brought you to the Deep Roads? It’s not the place I’d choose for a holiday given the choice. I’d much prefer somewhere a little less… infested with murderous Darkspawn. Antiva maybe.”

Carver focused his attention on his food, embarrassed to tell him the reason.

“There’s meant to be a lot of treasure down there,” he admitted finally. It sounded silly when he said finally out loud.  _ I nearly died because my brother and I wanted some gold.  _

“Ah. Treasure hunters,” Alistair nodded. “You’d be surprised how many of you we encounter down there. Although, most of them are a little more… dead than you.” 

Carver choked on his stew and Alistair flushed slightly. 

“Ah. The almost dying thing. I’ll… I’ll try and remember that.” His face brightened as he rummaged in the pouch at his waist. “That reminds me though. We have a tradition, after the Joining. You get to keep this.”

An amulet dangled in his grip as he held it out to Carver. 

“A necklace?” 

The pendant caught the light, the stone set in it glinting with an odd red light. 

“We call it the Warden’s Oath. We all have one.” Alistair reached two fingers down the neck of his armour, pulling out a similar pendant. “It’s to remember the sacrifice we made in joining the Grey Wardens and to remember those who didn’t make it. It contains Darkspawn blood, just a little, from your Joining.” 

Carver frowned, the chain of the amulet draped loosely through his fingers. 

“Darkspawn blood?” His eyes widened at the dim memory of the thick acrid taste in his mouth, the one clear point in the fog that was his almost fatal arrival at the Wardens camp. “I’m sorry, are you telling me I fucking drank  _ Darkspawn blood _ ?” 

The look on Alistair’s face told him everything he needed to know. 

Carver’s stomach turned, images of dead Darkspawn flashing through his memory, their blood, thick and black splattered across his face in the Deep Roads, the blood of the ogre spreading across the ground as his sister lay lifeless beside it. 

He fell to his knees, heaving the contents of his stomach emptied onto the ground. A hand rested comfortingly on his back, rubbing soothing circles until Carver stopped gagging. 

“You ok?” Alistair asked gently. “Maker, I keep putting my foot in it today. It’s never pleasant but most recruits are at least aware of it. Here, put your head between your knees.”

“What kind of barbaric ritual is this?” Carver said, doing as Alistair suggested as resting his head against his knees. It did help a little. 

“It’s the price we pay for being a Warden,” Alistair told him, hand still resting reassuringly on Carver’s back. “They’re not joking when they say it’s not easy.” 

With a deep breath, Carver pushed himself back up to a proper sitting position. He’d dropped the amulet as he vomited but thankfully it remained clean. He retrieved it now, inspecting it a little closer. 

“What do you mean ‘remember the people who didn’t make it’?”

Alistair hesitated before he answered. 

“Well, the Joining isn’t a guaranteed success. Wardens really just have the Blight, just...slowed. Comes with a whole lot of bonuses though. We can tell when Darkspawn are near and I can’t be sure it’s related but I am  _ excellent _ at cards now.” 

Carver shuddered at the memory of how the Blight had felt, the feeling distracting him from Alistair’s joke. Had he really gone from ‘dying of the Blight’ to ‘dying of the Blight but slowly’?

The other Warden’s face twitched as though something had amused him, and Carver looked at him, his thumb rubbing absentmindedly against the amulet in his hand. 

“What?”

Alistair shook his head. 

“Nothing,” he said. “I’m trying to be more sensitive to your… predicament.”

Carver scowled at him. 

“Tell me.”

The hesitation on Alistair’s face was obvious but he seemed to be able to tell that Carver wasn’t going to let it slide that easily. He sighed. 

“It occurred to me that maybe the universe was determined to give you the Blight,” Alistair said. “Dying of Blight sickness? Well, good news, join the Wardens and get the Blight instead.” 

Unable to stop himself, Carver laughed. Apparently he wasn’t the only one who’d had that train of thought. Although he didn’t know Alistair well enough to properly read his expressions, Carver thought he seemed a little pleased at the positive reaction.

“Now,” Alistair said, looking to the side where the food that had exited Carver’s stomach lay. “Do you need something else to eat?” 

His stomach grumbled at the question and Carver sighed, looking down at the amulet still in his hands. The light reflected dimly off the dark red of the Darkspawn blood.

“Yes,” he admitted. As sick as the idea of drinking Darkspawn blood still made him feel, the hunger still, gnawed at his belly, stronger than the nausea. 

As he devoured yet another bowl, Carver found himself wondering what he had gotten himself into, suddenly feeling very far from home.

* 

The rest of the day passed quickly after that. Alistair explained a little more about the Wardens, about their unique abilities and the burdens that came with that, the way the Taint changed their bodies. 

It turned out Carver’s suspicion was right - the Wardens  _ could _ sense Darkspawn - but they could also sense each other, which is why he had that odd unsettled feeling that he couldn’t shake. It made it harder to process how he felt about the situation he found himself in, distracted by all of the other thoughts and feelings in his head. 

The Warden camp was a temporary one, Alistair explained, a rather substantial one but temporary nonetheless, and as such, resources were limited. Despite that, Alistair seemed determined to find him some kind of Warden armour though, even if it wouldn’t properly fit him. 

“You’re telling me you survived the Deep Roads as long as you did wearing  _ that _ ,” Alistair asked, casting his eyes critically over Carver’s well loved armour.

“I’d have made it out if the armour protected from the Blight as well,” Carver muttered, defensive, suddenly feeling protective of the armour that had kept him safe all that time. Sure, it wasn’t much, but it was  _ his _ . “Some of us just have to take what we can get, we don’t all have blacksmiths and carts full of spare armour or endless gold to update our armour.”

“Armour that protects you from the Blight,” Alistair mused. “You could make a lot of coin there. Maybe I’m in the wrong business, Wardening around instead of finding anti Blight armour.”

Carver looked at him, not entirely sure if he should laugh or just roll his eyes.

“Wardening?”

“Oh come on, You know what I mean. When we’re out doing all our important Warden stuff.”

“I’ve haven’t been a Warden for long enough to know what you mean,” Carver pointed out and Alistair frowned.

“Right,” he said, “well, we’ll fix that soon I’m sure.” He turned back to the cart where the Wardens apparently stored their spare armour, giving a triumphant shout as he found something he thought might work.

Altogether, he managed to pull together a breastplate, a helmet and some pauldrons that fit Carver. The metal was dented and in need of some upkeep, and the fit wasn’t quite right but, as Alistair said, it’d work to keep Carver intact till they got back to a blacksmith. 

The final piece he pulled out was a scale undercoat, striped with blue, the silver scale catching the light. Carver didn’t know much about the Grey Wardens but he knew enough to recognise the Warden colours when he saw it. He swallowed nervously, unsure why the sight of it made him feel so much more overwhelmed. Perhaps it made it too real. 

“We always have plenty of these,” Alistair said. “They don’t tend to last as long as proper armour and they’re  _ much  _ harder to clean. I think I mentioned this already but Darkspawn remains  _ stink _ when they’re all over you for too long.” His voice trailed off, looking down at the coat in his hands. “Of course, you don’t have to wear it till you’re ready.”

Carver took the offered armour, grateful that he wasn’t expected to wear it straight away. He definitely wasn’t ready, not yet. 

“Thank you,” he said. 

“Now,” said Alistair, hands firmly on his hips. “You must be completely overwhelmed. I know I was when I first joined the Wardens and I was given an idea of what to expect beforehand and not… well, just kind of stumbling into it half dead one afternoon. I think you probably need a rest.”

Carber paused, his mouth already open to object when he realised Alistair was right - he could feel the fatigue lingering, lurking just beyond his current thoughts, no doubt waiting to strike as soon as he stopped focusing on everything happening around him. So instead, he just nodded. 

Another wagon was stocked with other supplies, such as tents and bedrolls, and Alistair organised a spare for Carver with the quartermaster. He assisted as the tent was erected, and before leaving, he gave Carver some paper with a quill and ink. 

“In case you want to write to anyone,” he said. “I know you weren’t alone in the Deep Roads. They might appreciate knowing you made it out alive.”

“Did you know Anders?” Carver asked, curious. The mage never talked much about his Warden past and the people he may have known there but he had also seemed to recognise the Wardens who carried him back to the surface. 

But Alistair shook his head. 

“Personally? No, I never had the pleasure. The Warden-Commander did though, they were quite close. It hit him hard when Anders…” His face clouded a little, expression darkening. “When he and Justice left us. I’m glad to hear Anders at least has found a new place to call home.” 

Carver wanted to pry a little more but he didn’t want to push his luck - no use souring a developing relationship with needless questions, and he could feel the fatigue more strongly now. 

Before he slept, he did try to write to Garrett, to his mother, to everyone he’d left back in Kirkwall but the words just wouldn’t come. Frustrated, several scribbled attempts already in front of him, he set the ink aside. He needed to rest and perhaps it would be easier to find the words when he had time to work out what words even needed to be said. 

* 

The Wardens let him rest for the rest of the afternoon, telling him to join them when he felt he was ready. Alistair was very clear about where he could be found if he was needed - and that he  _ should _ find him if anything at all was needed - but the choice about when was Carver’s. 

Carver was exhausted - probably still recovering from whatever this Warden ritual had done to his body - but he wasn’t able to sleep. Thoughts ran rampant through his head and he couldn't stop noticing all of the other Wardens as they moved around the camp, able to sense them as they walked. He tried again to write a letter home but the words wouldn’t organise themselves onto the paper. 

Regardless, he stayed in his tent, thinking, failing to sleep, until somebody paused outside, calling to him that dinner was almost ready. 

The Warden undercoat lay nearly folded on the ground beside him and he looked at it, hesitant. Tempted. But when he exited the tent, the undercoat stayed on the ground. 

It seemed there were only around ten Wardens in the camp, possibly more if any others were out in the Deep Roads like the group Anders found. Carver didn’t know if they ventured out and returned each night or if they made longer trips, staying in the underground. 

He approached the group gathered around the fire, swallowing nervously as eyes settled curiously upon him. It had been a while since he had felt so uncertain. It was a relief to see familiar faces, Alistair and the Warden-Commander, standing to one side.

Alistair waved at him while the Warden-Commander called a greeting as he approached.

“Warden-Commander,” he said, uncertain of how formal he was expected to be, if he was required to salute, to monitor his words. He settled for a stiff, formal stance, a polite nod of his head in greeting. “Warden Alistair.” 

“Call me Ellas,” the elf said and Carver gave another formal nod. 

“Ellas,” he said, repeating the slightly more casual greeting. 

“Wardens,” Ellas called to the gathered Wardens. Carver knew they were all still watching, even before the call for attention. “Our newest recruit, Carver. I trust you’ll all make him feel welcome. As you may have noticed, he hasn’t had the best few days.” 

There were a few small chuckles at that, subtle, as though they weren’t sure if he’d be offended by laughter at his expense. 

“Go on, then,” Alistair said to the watching group, nodding towards the pot on the fire. “There’s food waiting.” 

Another one of the men approached as the rest of them returned to what they had been doing. He had quite an impressive moustache, and something twigged a small hint of recognition on Carver’s mind. 

“It is good to see you up and walking,” he said, his accent marking him as Orlesian. “We feared you wouldn’t make it.”

“Stroud helped get you to us,” Ellas explained. Clearly Carver hadn’t been in a state to recognise anyone around him when he had left Garrett and the others but some part of his brain must have processed the man’s face, stored it somewhere in his memories. 

“We’re happy to have you among us,” Stroud said, voice low and smooth. “I only wish you had joined us under better circumstances.”

The air filled with friendly chatter as the Wardens ate, relaxing, catching their peers up on their day. Ellas circulated with Carver, introducing him to each Warden. Carver was good with names - something he’d always prided himself on - and did his best to remember each one but he suspected he’d be clarifying some tomorrow. 

When the introductions were finished, Ellas led him back to Alistair who handed them both something to eat. It was as delicious as what he had eaten earlier, or perhaps Carver was just so hungry that anything would have tasted good. 

When he was finally left to his own devices, Carver stood back. He was capable of approaching the others, of starting a conversation but he wasn’t sure he was ready to throw himself in and act like nothing had changed. He was too tired for that right now. 

And watching the friendly comradery of the group brought back memories, memories that were pleasant in themselves but drudged up more negative associations. Memories of belonging, being part of a group, comfortable, familiar which hurt when the group was gone, lost in battle or left behind as Caver and his family abandoned the places they called home. 

The rest of the Wardens seemed to recognise he was happier to be alone tonight, giving him space as he found his own place to sit on the outskirts of the group. 

Most of them, anyway. 

“Copper for your thoughts?” somebody asked and Carver jumped. Alistair. The man sat beside him, his long legs sprawled comfortably on the ground in front of him. He checked the pouch on his belt quickly. “Or… not,” he said. “I don’t seem to have any money on me. Although I guess I could find a coin if you really wanted one.” 

Carver looked at him, wondering what on earth he was talking about but also a little amused. He thought Garrett had talked a lot. It seemed Alistair would give his brother a run for his money.

“Sorry,” Alistair said. “You just...looked a little lonely. I wanted to make sure you were ok.”

“I’m ok,” Carver said, his gaze turning back toward the fire. “Just… thinking.”

They sat for a moment, the muffled voices of the other Wardens and crackling of the fire washing over them. 

“So… where was home before the Deep Roads?” Alistair asked after a moment.

“Kirkwall.” 

“You don’t sound like a Free Marcher,” Alistair said.

Carver knew he didn’t. His accent had marked him as an outsider to a lot of people in Kirkwall. While the unfriendly attitude towards the refugees that flooded the city during the Blight had eased a little over over time, it hadn’t disappeared and it had made things a lot harder for him and his family. 

But he didn’t want to discuss that with Alistair. 

“I’m not,” he said instead. “My family moved from Lothering. Home was a few places around Ferelden though, we moved a few times.”

He could feel Alistair’s gaze on him but his own eyes stayed focused on a spot on the ground before them. He got the sense that Alistair wouldn’t push, that if he didn’t want him to pry, all he’d have to do was say and Alistair would respect that but he didn’t quite want him to leave yet. 

“Oh, a traveller. How exciting. What kept you moving?” 

Carver glanced sideways at him, casting his eyes across the camp before returning them to the ground. There had been at least one Wardens around the camp with a staff, a sign that it was unlikely to be a particularly unfriendly environment for mages, but years of experience had taught him to be guarded. 

“Family reasons. Where are you from?”

Years of experience had also taught him the quickest way to avoid questions was to ask your own back, redirect the other person back to themselves. Most people were happier to talk about themselves than they were to listen to others. 

“Redcliffe, originally. Then they sent me to the Templars, I joined the Wardens, and the rest, as they say, is history.” 

Templars. 

Carver stiffened at his word, his guard rising. 

“You’re a Templar?” 

Alistair laughed. 

“No, thankfully. It wasn’t for me. Too much of remembering rules and locking mages up for sneezing the wrong way and the Chantry? Always watching.  _ Always _ . Thankfully Duncan found me before I made it through my vowels. And here I am, still doing all our secret warden stuff.” 

There was a shout from over at the fire, the noise followed by raucous laughter, and both men paused, looking across at the other Wardens. Carver relaxed slightly as Alistair talked, the man clearly not likely to try and turn any mage he encountered over to the Templars. It was probably hypocritical of him to be nervous around any mention of the order given his own recent considerations but it was nice to have that little bit of reassurance. Even if Garrett was safe in Kirkwall, nowhere nearby, and Bethany…

He took a deep breath. 

“Who is Duncan? Is he here?” Carver asked, looking around. It took Alistair longer to answer this time. The silence was broken by the sounds around them but it felt notable. 

“Ah, no. He died at Ostagar. At the start of the Blight.”

“I’m sorry,” Carver said, trying to push away his own hurt that resurfaced at the mention. The survivors of Ostagar were the lucky ones, but nobody had escaped without some kind of loss, be it to themselves or others. ”Ostagar was…”

“Thank you. He was a good Warden. A good  _ man _ ,” Alistair said. 

Carver didn’t know what to say after that. It seemed Alistair didn’t either, the pause between them growing. A yawn crept out, Carver unable to stifle it in time. 

“You’re tired,” Alistair said. “I know it isn’t late but you should rest. Taint or not, we do need our beauty sleep.”

“Speak for yourself,” Carver muttered, amused despite himself. He wanted to argue, insist he didn’t need to sleep but he couldn’t bring himself to truly object. Not when the weariness felt like it was sinking all the way down to his bones. 

Alistair laughed. 

“I’ll admit, perhaps I’m the only one who needs that.”

As Carver stood, Alistair followed him to his feet. 

“Ah, I should probably warn you,” he said. “Us Wardens are… well, we’re prone to nightmares. Darkspawn stuff. They don’t tend to be as bad now as during the Blight but…” He trailed off with a sympathetic smile. 

“Nothing new, then” Caver said under his breath. Between Ostagar, Lothering and Bethany’s death, he was no stranger to night terrors. He turned back to farewell Alistair when a thought struck him. If Alistair was a Warden during the Blight… A Warden with loses at Ostagar… 

“You’re not… are you the fucking Hero of Ferelden?” he blurted. 

A faint blush stained Alistair’s cheeks, visible even in the dimming light and he laughed, sounding a little embarrassed. 

“No I’m not,” he said and Carver breathed a faint sigh of relief. Imagine if he’d been making an idiot of himself in front of somebody literally famous across the whole country. The whole continent, even. “I  _ was _ there but that honor belongs to our esteemed commander over there.”

Carver cursed under his breath, his eyes drifting to watch the elf laughing by the fire. 

He should have known. Anders hadn't talked about his life with the Wardens much but it wasn’t a secret he had worked with the Hero of Ferelden. And Alistair  _ had _ mentioned the Warden-Commander had known Anders. 

Maker, the Hero of Ferelden had seen him almost naked. He had nearly  _ died _ in front of the  _ Hero of Ferelden _ before the man even knew his name. 

If Garrett ever found out, he’d never let him live it down. 

“He gets that reaction a lot,” Alistair said. “Probably why he doesn’t mention it much. Besides, it was kind of just something we just… had to do.”

Carver looked at Alistair in awe, the flickering light from the fire highlighting one side of his face, light and shadows dancing across it.

“Maker,” he said, shaking his head. “The Hero of Ferelden. And… and you. You must be the other warden. You took on an archdemon.”

Alistair laughed nervously, looking a little embarrassed in the uneven light. 

“Well, yes, I guess we did. We did find you don’t end up with much choice if the blighted thing won’t go away though.”

Carver knew when to take a hint, how to read when somebody was reluctant to continue on a subject. He had his own topics like that. The Wardens had suffered losses at Ostagar, that was common knowledge, even without the loss of the man Alistair had already mentioned and he didn’t want to force Alistair to dwell on everything else what may have happened in that time. 

“Thank you,” he said instead. “I know there might not have been much choice but somebody had to do it.” Fleeing the Darkspawn that overran Lothering had been terrifying enough, he couldn’t imagine taking on the whole army with the archdemon as well. 

Alistair seemed to appreciate the words, assuming Carver correctly interpreted the smile he got as he said goodbye and excused himself from the group, Alistair insisting he didn’t need to apologise to the Warden-Commander for anything. 

As he returned to the tent he’d been given, the Warden undercoat still lay spread across his bedroll where he’d left it earlier, the bright colour dulled by the comparative lack of light. Carver lifted it tentatively as he moved it to the side, as though the fabric was fragile under his fingers.

Everything still felt a little overwhelming, like he was too far from home, like everything he thought he knew had been pulled out from underneath him yet again. His head was filled with memories of things he’d hoped to forget, like the loss of his fellow soldiers at Ostagar, like the pain his mother had felt losing a child during their escape, and the thought that maybe she was feeling similar pain now, if Garrett had already made it home. 

But despite all of that, he was starting to feel as though maybe the Wardens could become something comfortable, something he could be a part of. Especially with people like Alistair around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter also ended up being a Carver focused chapter but I swear there’ll be some more specifically Alistair/Carver stuff in the next chapter 😂
> 
> Honestly idk what the wardens spend every day doing? So I’ve imagined this particular group of wardens is out running missions into the Deep Roads from a base camp, setting up smaller camps when necessary for longer trips, and that they’ll return to a larger, more permanent warden stronghold at a later point when they’re confident this area is safe 
> 
> Warden-Commander Ellas Mahariel plays a very minor role, he pretty much one appears in this chapter, but if you’re interested in him, he also features in [this oneshot](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26249980) (:


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies in advance for any potential errors, I had 0 editing motivation tbh so I've likely missed minor things  
> General warning in advance for Bethany/ogre trauma stuff <3

> _Hawke,_
> 
> _How are you? Hope all is well. Things are good here, I suppose. Grey Warden legends do fail to mention a few things, though! I've yet to do anything remotely glorious or honorable since arriving. In fact, most of it is painful, dirty, often horrific work. Thanks a lot! (In case you forgot that it's your fault I'm here.)_
> 
> _The positive is that I'm alive and part of something greater. I've a chance to prove myself. Maybe I'll even step out of your big fat shadow! Thing is, Ferelden already has a hero that stopped the Blight. I met him you know - he says he hopes Anders is well. I’m working quite often with the other Warden who helped stop the Blight. His name is Alistair._
> 
> _Say hello to Mother and Gamlen for me._
> 
> _Carver_

_*_

It had been a few days before Carver was ready to put on the Warden colours, wear the insignia of his new order. The Warden-Commander had told him he didn’t need to when he headed out on his first Warden mission, not if he wasn’t ready, but joining the other Wardens in their blue stripes had given him a sense of pride he didn’t anticipate. 

The size of the grin Alistair had given him when he saw Carver approaching in his new uniform, a grin full of welcome, had helped him feel confident in his decision. 

He hadn’t known what to expect from the Warden’s daily life, had never really given it a thought. It turned out Warden work - when there wasn’t a Blight around, anyway - included a lot of seeking out various places where Darkspawn were rumoured, driving them back when they managed to escape the Deep Roads, and monitoring breaches that needed to be resealed. Sometimes they sealed the outside of the breach, trapping any possibly remaining Darkspawn underground, and sometimes they headed underground themselves to keep the Darkspawn as far away from the surface as possible. 

It was, as he had written to Garrett when he had finally found the words he wanted to say, dirty and often horrific. Alistair had been right. Darkspawn blood - or _gunk_ , as the other Warden had so aptly put it - absolutely stank if it was left to linger for any period of time, and when you were spending days at a time in the Deep Roads, regular washing wasn’t always an option. 

It was also hard, physical work, a lot of walking, a lot of fighting, much more than he had done in Kirkwall, more than he had done even in the army. The Wardens trained too, running through drills, keeping their skills sharp, even on days they were not out actively fighting. The Darkspawn were ruthless, and one single mistake could mean death.

“Who taught you to fight?” Alistair asked one day in the camp as Carver maneuvered his sword, practicing his skills. Carver jumped, not realising the other Warden had been there. 

“I did,” he said, sword still moving as he followed the pattern his body knew so well. “Kind of. And then a lot of people, I guess.” 

He realised Alistair was still watching, apparently curious at his answer and he sighed, lowering his sword, the tip pointed at the ground. 

“I used to watch the soldiers practising when I was a boy,” he continued. There was no reason not to tell Alistair what he wanted to know, after all. “I’d try and copy them with sticks. I didn’t really know what they were doing but I thought if I copied them maybe I could be like them too.”

Alistair laughed. 

“You taught yourself to fight using sticks?” he asked and Carver felt his cheeks flush. He’d been laughed at for recounting the memory before. “That’s absolutely adorable. And clearly it's working, you look like you know exactly what you’re doing. Although you could just be very good at pretending. That’s what I’m usually doing when I look like I know what I’m doing.”

“I was watching a soldier in the village one day,” Carver continued, laughing at Alistair's words. “I can’t even remember exactly where it was, we were moving around a lot at that point. He caught me watching. I thought he’d be mad at me but he just laughed. I was so embarrassed, I just ran away”

He paused, remembering that day. He’d run home to hide and Garrett had laughed at him, assuming he was being a scaredy cat and Carver had refused to tell him anything in case he had laughed more. Bethany had managed to coax it out of him, being her usual reassuring wonderful self, promising him that the soldiers probably wouldn’t care and if that they did, they were just stupid.

“Now that’s something I can _definitely_ relate to. Not to boast but I have spent a _lot_ of time running away from things in embarrassment,” Alistair said. 

“I’m sure,” Carver said. “You didn’t seem to be running in embarrassment last week when you walked into the unwashed dishes though.”

“That’s entirely because it’s rather hard to run with a pot stuck on your foot. I had to pretend it was an intentional decision instead. Do you think everyone fell for it?”

Carver laughed again, shifting his weight as he adjusted the way his sword rested on the ground. 

“I did get some proper training when I joined the army. It sucked. It was much more fun to learn by myself. They kept telling me I complained too much.”

“I can’t possibly imagine you complaining about something,” Alistair said, clearly trying to keep his face serious. He wasn’t entirely successful, especially when Carver rolled his eyes at him. 

“My father taught me some things too,” Carver added. The thought brought his mood down but he felt it was important to say. “He hardly knew one end of a sword from the other but he tried.” 

Alistair smiled at the idea, flopping onto the ground nearby. Carver moved to sit beside him. 

“Why do you ask?” Carver wondered out loud, suddenly self conscious about the way he fought. Had Alistair been watching him and wondering what in the world he was doing?

“The other Wardens were wondering,” Alistair said, which eased Carver’s nerves just a little. Even if that meant the other Wardens had been the ones trying to work out what he was doing, it was reassuring to know Alistair wasn’t one of them. “They like fighting with you, the mages and archers especially, even if you are a little… unconventional.”

“Unconventional?” Carver frowned at the word but he couldn’t bring himself to properly care. 

“Well, ‘fucking weird’ was how one of them put it but I thought I’d put it a little more gently,” Alistair laughed. 

“Very diplomatic of you,” Carver said, his face relaxing in amusement. Alistair nudged him with an elbow, big smile on his face.

“That’s me, forever the diplomat.” 

A comfortable silence fell between them, broken only by the noise of a sword hitting a shield as a pair of the other Wardens sparred. Carver hesitated, the words he wanted to disclose sitting heavy on his tongue as he tried to find the courage to share them. 

“I’m used to fighting with mages. I grew up with them,” he said, trying to ignore the pounding of his heart as it rang in his ears. The Wardens were friendlier to mages than most but this was a secret he always did his best to keep, despite Garrett’s complete and utter lack of subtlety. Before Kirkwall, disclosing it meant putting them all at risk, meant possibly leaving the place they currently called home for yet another new one and in Kirkwall… well, having to leave for a new home was probably one of the best possible outcomes. 

“Oh?” 

And just like that, Carver found himself telling Alistair all about his family. How his mother had fled Kirkwall for Ferelden with an apostate mage, leaving behind her family and all of their assets. How they had spent their whole life ready to move from one place to another, considering moving any time there was a risk. 

Sometimes the risk was Malcolm Hawke himself, when he said something he shouldn’t have or people tried to delve too deeply into his past. Sometimes it was his brother Garrett, being impulsive or careless, or angrily standing up for one of his younger siblings. Sometimes it was Bethany, losing control of her magic in the midst of her emotions, letting something slip when she trusted too easily. Even he and his mother, not a scrap of magic between them, had let things slip.

Alistair just sat and listened, listened in a way that Carver hadn’t ever experienced before, not when talking about his family. Not that he’d ever really had the chance _to_ talk about them like this before. Not without worrying that his words would somehow put his family in danger.

“Is your family all back in Kirkwall?” Alistair asked and Carver felt his mood slip again. 

“Mother and Garrett are,” he said. “Father died a few years back, he was sick. And Bethany…” He trailed off, the thought like a dagger through his heart, just like it always was, like it had been ever since he had been too slow to stop it. Any lightness he’d felt from disclosing his secret, the secret that most of his immediate family were apostate mages, was weighed back down. 

It seemed he didn’t need to finish the sentence for Alistair to understand. 

“I’m sorry.”

“She nearly made it all the way out of Lothering,” Carver said, more to himself than to Alistair. Not wanting to see the pity in Alistair’s eyes, the pity that everybody always had when they found out, that never felt like it reflected the depth of his loss, he scooped up his sword and pushed himself to his feet. 

“Fight you?” he said, hoping to change the subject more than anything else. 

“Oh ho, a challenge,” Alistair said, brandishing his sword. “How about we raise the stakes? Loser has to carry both tents next time we’re out.”

“Deal,” Carver said, and as he did his best to disarm his new friend, he tried to also fight away all of the painful thoughts and memories. 

Carver won but he found that he really didn’t care. 

He just cared that was much easier to think about positive things when Alistair laughed, yielding.

*

So much of the Deep Roads looked the same. The tunnels stretched for Maker knows how far, and yet at times, it was hard to tell if you’d walked far at all. At times, it was a comfort, something familiar in the uncertainty of the underground tunnels, but it often just made the Deep Roads seem even more monotonous.

The day so far had been dull as the small group had travelled through the dwarven tunnels. They had encountered a lone Darkspawn here and there, but largely the journey had been uneventful. 

Despite that, an uneasy feeling settled low in Carver’s stomach, although it was hard to tell if it was just the discomfort that came when Darkspawn were around or if something else felt wrong. He tried to push it aside. No point worrying until you knew there was something to worry about. Especially when you lived the life of a Warden. 

Instead he focused on Alistair, walking in front of him. He was muttering something under his breath, probably trying to recall some kind of list that he’d forgotten. Carver couldn’t hear the words but the familiar noise was a soothing distraction, giving him something to focus on to keep his mind occupied.

Alistair seemed to sense the eyes on him, pausing where he stood, turning his head back to look at Carver. 

“Everything ok?” he asked. “You seem… distracted.”

“Yep! Just… Darkspawn feelings,” Carver said with the best smile he could manage. 

From up ahead, one of the other Wardens - an elf named Tabris - paused, one hand up to halt the group behind her. 

“Something up ahead,” she said. “Darkspawn, a lot of them, or perhaps something big.”

“We can take them,” Carver said, fingers twitching towards his sword. 

“Well, as long as you don’t trip over your own feet again,” Alistair teased. 

“Shut up,” Carver told him with a rude gesture, but he smiled as he did every time Alistair teased him. “Like you’ve never fallen over.”

“I always fall with grace and style, thank you very much. An artistic, uncontrolled dive.”

“You two ready?” Tabris asked them and Carver nodded. He was still getting to know the elf but from her tone, he guessed she was rolling her eyes at them.

The idea of taking on a group of Darkspawn seemed so much less daunting now than it had when he’d first approached the Deep Roads with Garrett. These days, it was just a part of his daily life.

Weapons drawn, the group edged their way forward, slowly, anticipating trouble. It didn’t take long before they encountered the first group of Darkspawn, the hurlocks falling easily under the combined force of Carver and Alistair’s swords and the supporting bows and magic. The second group quickly followed. 

The feeling of Darkspawn still prickled through Carver’s body, a feeling that made his skin crawl and his head feel crowded. 

“I hate these stupid things,” he muttered to himself, wiping his hand clean of the dark, sticky ooze of Darkspawn blood. Alistair clearly heard the comment, responding with a chuckle. 

“I’m sure the feeling is mutual.” 

“Ready for the next chamber?” Tabris called back to them, bow drawn and ready. Alistair shifted past her, ready to cross the doorway before her. It was a strategy they often used, sending Carver or Alistair in first with the more ranged fighters keeping to the back, but a tiny feeling of alarm flickered somewhere in the back of his brain, the sense that something wasn’t right. 

Footsteps echoed through the opened door, amplified by the stone walls of the room. 

“Whatever it is, it’s a big one,” Alistair said quietly back to them, edging forward into the room. It was hard to be sure but Carver thought he sounded a little bit more nervous than he usually was heading into a fight. 

“Any idea what this thing is?” Carver asked, hoping one of the more experienced Wardens may have a little more idea than him. Tabris just shrugged. 

“Could be a few things,” she said. “Some kind of alpha? An ogre maybe?” 

Adrenaline rushed through Carver in a panic, his heart feeling as though it skipped a beat.

“Alistair, stop,” he choked out, ignoring the sudden dryness in his throat, but it was too late. A rock hit the wall, shattering into a million pieces upon impact as Alistair dove to the side. A hand followed the rock, grasping at the spot where Alistair had just been as the ogre proved that Tabris’ prediction had been accurate. 

Carver’s feet felt heavy as he stumbled forward, trying to lift his sword. 

Not again. He couldn’t let it happen again.

Bethany’s face swam through his thoughts, making it hard to focus on anything else, but he forced himself towards Alistair, who, thankfully, seemed to be ok as he pushed himself to his feet again. 

An arrow hit the ogre directly in the shoulder, Tabris giving a triumphant cry as the ogre roared its anger. The arrow was followed by a bright flash of magic, sparking through the air to envelope the ogre. 

Carver knew first hand how loud the roar of an ogre could be but it was muffled by the sound of his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. He sensed Alistair push past him, heading for the beast before them, putting himself once again within reach of those gigantic hands.

It took effort to force his own feet to move, to push his way towards the Darkspawn creature but he did, his sword drawn as he rushed forwards. The ogre’s eyes fixed on him and Carver shuddered at the evil reflected within them. 

He was aware of the first swing of his sword but the rest became a blur, hazy and indistinct in his memories. But one moment he was swinging his sword, making solid contact with the tainted Darkspawn flesh, the resulting roar echoing in his ears, and the next the creature was on the ground in front of him, his armour, his skin, coated in thick, dark blood. 

Ogre blood smelled different to the blood of other Darkspawn, worse, the scent of it sitting heavy in Carver’s nose. Or perhaps he just associated it with things that were worse.

His stomach turned as he stood, looking at its lifeless body, feeling as though the body of his sister should be lying on the ground beside it, a reminder of the time he was too slow, in the wrong place at the wrong time. If he’d been closer, maybe he could have saved her. If he’d been closer, maybe it would have grabbed him instead.

But he’d been too far away and he’d had to watch Bethany die, unable to save her, just like he’d watched his friends, his brothers, die at Ostagar, unable to save them either. 

It wasn’t fair that he got to live every time when the people he cared about didn’t.

At least this time he’d stopped it. Alistair was ok. The others were ok. 

“Carver?” The voice was faint through the noise of his own heartbeat in his ears. “ _Carver_.”

Carver blinked slowly as something moved in front of his face. He tore his eyes away from the massive Darkspawn body lying before him to look at Alistair, still trying to get his attention. 

“Are you ok? You look a little… well, you’re white as a sheet.” 

“I’m fine,” Carver said. His gaze shifted from Alistair’s face, drifting back to the body of the ogre. Blood spread across the ground, filling the cracks in the tiled floor. His mouth was still dry and he couldn't seem to change that. How did you change that? “I’m fine,” he repeated. 

Alistair said something to the other Wardens, then a hand was firmly on Carver’s elbow, guiding him away and back out into the passageway. 

As they walked, Alistair talked, his voice once again a constant in the background. Carver didn’t know what he was saying but focusing on that fact, the ongoing babble, helped give him something to think about. Focusing enough to understand was beyond him but the sound of Alistair’s voice was there. 

The sudden light as Alistair led him up one final set of stairs told him they were almost at the surface. He winced at the brightness as they exited the tunnel. 

Alistair’s voice paused, the grip on Carver’s arm tightening. 

“Hey,” Alistair told him and Carver blinked at him.

Alistair had blood on him. He realised he still had blood on him too. It had dried, congealing on his skin and clothes. It must still be on his sword too. Perhaps he should clean that. Did it matter? 

“Look at me,” Alistair said. “Here. Look at me. Take a deep breath.”

Carver did his best to follow the instruction, trying to focus on how his lungs worked. Did they work? 

“You’re alright, I promise. It’ll be alright.” Alistair wrapped his arms around Carver, holding him tightly, his head against Carver’s shoulder. The pressure of him was a reassurance, making it easier to focus on his breathing, on the things around him. 

“Go on, sit down,” Alistair said, finally releasing him from the hug. Carver sat obediently, accepting the waterskin the other Warden offered him. Everything felt a little more steady around him now, less foggy and indistinct, but he felt a little shaky.

“Where’re the others?” he mumbled, mouth dry. The water didn’t seem to help but he held it anyway as Alistair sat beside him. 

“They’re still going. Can’t let the Darkspawn get away that easily.” Alistair’s smile didn’t seem to quite meet his eyes. “I felt like you needed to get out though. Do you want to talk about it?” 

Thinking back to the ogre made Carver’s stomach turn, nausea washing through him. Bethany’s face filled his thoughts again and he shook his head. Alistair nodded, sitting back, eyes fixed straight ahead. 

“There was an ogre at Ostagar, you know,” he said. “Up in the tower, before we could light the beacon and signal for reinforcements. Not that that mattered in the end. We nearly didn’t make it to the signal.” 

“You did, though,” Carver said. “We saw it.”

“We did.” Alistair didn’t say anything else and Carver focused on the sounds around them, the sound of rustling leaves and birdsong filling the silence. No doubt Alistair was thinking about the events of that day, the lack of the action that was meant to follow, the losses that followed, much like Carver was. Was it any easier to think about the loss of the men he had trained with, who had been friends than it was to think about his sister?

Alistair broke the silence first. 

“They’re ugly beasts, ogres. Was that the first time you’ve seen one?”

Carver wanted to answer but he couldn’t find the words. Instead, he just shook his head, wordless, the face of the beast on the way out of Lothering filling his thoughts. 

“My sister... ” he started. He cut himself off. Saying it was worse than thinking about it. 

Alistair nodded sympathetically. 

“Awful things. Thank the Maker they’re not common.”

They fell back into silence, a silence that wasn’t entirely comfortable and yet wasn’t entirely uncomfortable either. 

“I’m ready to go back in,” Carver said finally, standing. He was right about the blood, still coating his sword as he shifted it towards his back. His nose wrinkled in distaste, anticipating the chore of cleaning it later. 

“Ah, no, I don’t think so. I’m not risking that.”

Carver frowned at him, hurt by the implication that he was a risk of any kind. He didn’t think Alistair thought of him like that. For some reason, the idea of Alistair trying to hold him back like so many people had in his life hurt more than others. 

“I can decide that for myself,” he snapped, the words sharper than he had intended. “I’m not suddenly incompetent because I reacted badly to one unusual Darkspawn.”

“Carver,” Alistair started, pausing when Carver scowled at him. “I’d say the same to anyone who I saw shut down like you did, and believe me, I’ve seen it happen before. More than once, too. You push yourself too hard and you _won’t_ be ok anymore.”

With the reassurance that Alistair hadn’t lost any faith in him, Carver could reluctantly accept that he had a point. Not that he wanted to admit that. 

“If it makes you feel better,” Alistair said, “I’m not going back either. Somebody has to babysit, after all.” 

Carver whacked him gently on the arm, almost smiling despite himself.

“I’ll show you who needs a babysitter.”

“I think there’s a mirror in the pack,” Alistair gave him a cheeky grin, seemingly gratified when Carver laughed, even if the laugh was a little shakier than usual. He interrupted his own laugh with a sudden movement as Alistair reached out an arm for his pack. 

“Don’t you dare!” 

He grabbed Alistair’s arm, both of them laughing as he tried to pull it free. 

“Let me go,” he exclaimed. “I’m under attack, help!” 

“You started it!” 

“I yield! I yield!” 

“Once again, I’m victorious,” Carver poked his tongue out at the other Warden. “And you say I’m the one who needs a babysitter.” He flopped down beside Alistair again. “So if we’re not going back, what are we going to do?”

“I was thinking maybe a game of cards. I told the others we’d meet them out here and who knows how long they could be.” Alistair said thoughtfully, a cheeky glint appearing in his eye. “Alas, the cards are in the pack with the mirror and I’m unable to reach that due to the extreme risk of attack.” 

Carver threw the pack at him, the bag hitting Alistair’s chest with a thud.

“Wicked Grace?” he asked, beginning to deal out the cards when Carver nodded. “I have to warn you though, I learnt to play from an assassin with absolutely _no_ morals when it comes to cheating.”

“I learnt from a pack of soldiers and practiced with a pirate,” Carver said. “I think she a similar view on cheating.”

The sun was warm through the trees, the light dancing across Alistair’s face as the afternoon passed with growing familiarity, the cheating becoming more and more blatant with each round as each of them learnt how the other played. 

The memories of the ogre, of Bethany, of _all_ the people he had been unable to save, remained but Carver found himself more able to push them down, lock them away again. By the time the other Wardens rejoined them, ready to head back to the main camp, they had returned to the place they normally were, waiting for something to drag them up to the surface again. 

And with a head full of thoughts about Alistair, it was easier to think about the positive things. 

*

“Carver,” somebody whispered. “Psst, Carver.”

His tent rustled as somebody parted the fabric flaps, peeking inside. Carver narrowed his eyes, trying to focus in the poor light.

“Alistair?”

“I was thinking about you,” Alistair whispered once inside the tent, as though he didn’t want anybody in the camp around them to hear. Surely at this hour, everyone but the Wardens on watch were asleep, though. “Can I come in?” 

“Go ahead,” Carver said, filled with anticipation. What did he want? Why was he here? “Is everything ok?”

“Everything’s fine,” Alistair said, moving closer, stooped to his knees under the low fabric roof. The tent was small and it felt even smaller with both of them in it. “I was just thinking about you. I’ve been doing that a lot lately.”

“I’ve been thinking about you too,” Carver said, sitting up to face him as Alistair crawled closer. He realised he was holding his breath. 

“You’re very handsome, Carver,” Alistair whispered, so close that Carver could feel Alistair’s breath on his skin. His own lips parted slightly, lost for words, before Alistair’s lips were against his. 

Alistair pressed forward, pushing Carver down against the bed, his weight heavy against Carver’s chest. Carver did his best to pull him closer as he kissed him back, hands behind Alistair’s shoulders, one leg wrapping around him. He wanted every part of Alistair to be as close to him as possible. 

“Alistair,” he breathed against the other man’s lips, his breath catching as Alistair’s mouth moved from Carver’s mouth to his neck, whispering his name in return. 

Something loud clattered outside, the sudden noise followed by loud swearing. 

Carver’s eyes jolted open, hands grasping for something that wasn’t there. The tent was the same small size it always had been but it felt emptier without Alistair there and the absence of him made Carver’s heart feel like it ached. 

Outside, the voices continued, apologising for the noise - it seemed somebody on watch had knocked over a suit of armour that had been left on display, waking the majority of the camp. He considered emerging to see if any assistance was needed but it seemed to be under control. 

Instead, he took a deep breath, rolling over - alone - to try and sleep once again. 

His brain felt so full he felt he may never be able to sleep, but the overwhelming thought that kept coming through, forcing its way through everything else, was how much he wished it hadn’t been a dream. 

Well, that thought along with a healthy dose of “ _oh no_ ”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My warden boys, opening up and supporting each other through trauma <3  
> Thank you to everyone who's read and left kudos and comments!! I appreciate all of them so much and if I haven't replied to yours, its not personal, I haven't have the energy yet (:
> 
> I hope the end isn't too much of a cliche 😂🧡 And I guess this sorta has a slow burn thing going on?  
> I initially planned Carver wearing his warden uniform for the first time to be a Thing™ but it just...didn't work out pacing wise sooo it's been added to my ever growing "things I want to write about Carver" list.


	4. Chapter 4

When he woke the next morning, Carver had made up his mind that he’d try and avoid spending time alone with Alistair. That seemed easier than dealing with the feelings, feelings which seemed even stronger in the morning than they had the night before. Alistair was a good friend, had been everything Carver had needed, ever since the first day he had woken up a Warden. He had no doubt Alistair would continue to be a good friend, no matter what - he was just that kind of person, after all - but he didn’t want to risk it.

If he ignored the feelings, maybe they’d go away, and not being around Alistair might make it easier to ignore them. 

That resolve lasted about as long as it took to walk outside. Carver could almost pinpoint the exact moment it failed completely - the instant he saw Alistair, the way his face lit up in a welcoming smile as Carver approached - and he sighed, realising he’d have to think of a strategy other than avoidance to deal with this.

“Good morning,” Alistair said, annoyingly cheerful given the early hour. “Somebody’s looking grumpy this morning.”

“Didn’t sleep well,” Carver muttered, accepting the bowl of oatmeal Alistair passed to him. 

“Oh no. Bad dreams?” Alistair’s expression was full of sympathy as Carver hesitated, nodding, filled with guilt about lying. The dream about kissing Alistair, about Alistair kissing _him_ , definitely wasn’t a bad one. “If you ever need to talk about them, my ears are always open.” He frowned. “Can ears be open? I guess they always are, it’s not like they can really close, can they? But I’m always happy to listen. Darkspawn dreams or… otherwise.” 

“Thank you,” Carver said, genuine and grateful in his thanks. Even if it was, in this instance, based on a lie. He couldn’t imagine ever telling Alistair about the reality of his dream. 

And he knew there was no way he’d be able to stay away from Alistair.

*

“What’s it like, being a Templar?” Carver asked Alistair one night. 

The Wardens often congregated around the central fire of the camp but there were also times when they split off to do their own thing. Tonight was one of those nights. Carver found himself alone with Alistair as they played another game of cards, something which had become an increasingly common occurrence recently. 

The other Warden had mentioned his time with the Templars in passing a while ago and it had been playing on Carver’s mind lately. 

“Oh, you know, full of utter evil, every day a risk,” Alistair said. “Sometimes there were even mages and demons from the Fade too .” He grinned after Carver. The cheeky glint in his eyes made Carver’s heart skip a beat before Alistair’s face grew more serious. 

“Really though, they trained us to fight. The Chantry acts like we’re just a line of defense but I think they just like having an army at their disposal so they wanted us to be good at what we can do, against mages _and_ non-mages. And of course, the main purpose is to hunt mages but you probably know that.”

Carver frowned. 

“So it’s just… training? Like you’d do in the army?”

“Well, sort of. We train in talents that might help specifically against the mages. Draining mana, disrupting spells, all that fun stuff that makes things tricky for mages to fight back. And then there’s the lyrium. They told us it was to make our skills stronger but… I have doubts. Lyrium is addictive and the chantry controls the lyrium trade. Makes it easy for them to keep their Templars on a leash.” 

Alistair’s brow furrowed as he looked at the cards in front of him. 

“You don’t seem to be a fan,” Carver said. “Of the Chantry or the Order. How did you end up there?”

“I didn’t have a lot of choice,” Alistair said, his gaze still fixed intently on his cards, as though he was deliberately avoiding meeting Carver’s eyes. “I was raised by the Arl in Denerim. His new wife was…well, not a fan, to put it lightly. He sent me to the monastery after they were married. I was furious but at least I was _good_ at it. It felt nice to be good at something.”

“I’m sure you were already good at lots of things,” Carver said, feeling strangely satisfied when Alistair gave him a grateful smile in response. “You are now. Good at lots of things.” 

The comment was _mostly_ to make Alistair feel good about himself but it was true. Alistair _was_ very impressive, in so many ways. He was skilled, knowledgeable, thoughtful and empathetic, and Carver was grateful to consider him a friend. Even if he _would_ like to be more than friends. 

“Thank you,” Alistair said, the tips of his ears a little redder than they had been a moment ago. “Why do you ask though? Surely you don’t really want to know about my being a Templar.”

 _I want to know everything about you_ , Carver wanted to say, but he couldn’t say that. Not out loud. 

“I almost joined the Templars,” he said instead, the simple disclosure of the thought he hadn’t mentioned to anyone, to his brother, his mother, his friends, somehow easier to express than admitting to Alistair how he felt about him. “Back in Kirkwall.”

Alistair’s eyebrows rose, almost imperceptibly. 

“I’ve heard… things about the Templars in Kirkwall,” he said delicately, clearly trying to be sensitive to the topic. “How would your family have taken that?”

Carver snorted. 

“Garrett probably still wouldn’t be talking to me,” he said. “And Mother… I don’t know how she’d have reacted. Probably not well.” He took a deep breath. “But I needed to _do_ something. Uncle Gamlen’s house only had three rooms and we didn’t have much money. We got by with jobs Garrett found but I hated relying on him.”

“You didn’t help with his jobs?” 

“I did.” Carver sighed deeply before he continued. “But I always felt like I was just helping out. He didn’t even bring me all of the time and nobody seemed to ever want just me.”

“That must have been hard,” Alistair said. He set his cards on the table in front of him, clearly feeling the game was over, at least for now. “Joining the Templars with a family full of mages though… did you really feel like it was the only thing you could do?” 

Carver swallowed hard, trying to gather his thoughts. 

“I tried joining the city guard first,” he said, hoping the bitterness in his tone was only obvious to him. “They turned down my application.” 

“What? Why?” Alistair exclaimed. “You’d be an excellent guardsman, I’m sure. I, for one, would be happy to be arrested by you. Not that I’ve ever done a single illegal thing in my entire life, of course.” 

“I bet you haven’t. You’re practically a spirit of virtue,” Carver laughed, the moment of humour slipping away as his thoughts returned to Kirkwall. “Garrett’s _friend_ had influence in the guard. Asked them to turn me down. She said I seemed ‘tired of thinking of others before myself’ and that I’d be a risk.”

This time the bitterness definitely crept through. He still hadn’t forgiven Aveline for that. 

“She can’t have known you very well if she thought that was true,” Alistair said, sending a warm feeling rushing through Carver’s chest. It was hardly even a compliment but he knew he’d be thinking about it later. 

“She acted like she did. But once it was done, it was done. And there weren’t many people willing to take on a Ferelden apprentice in Kirkwall following the Blight and all the refugees that flooded in.”

“And so the Templars it was?” Alistair asked and Carver nodded. 

“The Deep Roads expedition was always our goal. It was starting to seem less and less likely the longer it took though. And… I kept thinking about my family. About Bethany.”

He took a deep breath, preparing himself to talk about her. It was still hard.

“She didn’t… she didn’t make it to Kirkwall. But I kept thinking, what if she did? What if she’d ended up in the Gallows? I’ve heard the things they say about Kirkwall Templars too. I wouldn’t want my sister being treated like that but lots of those mages, they probably have families too. They could be somebody’s Bethany. Or they could have been somebody’s pain in the ass big brother too.” 

He let out a nervous laugh. 

“I’m probably being silly though. Idealistic and naive.”

“I think it’s very admirable,” Alistair said. His eyes caught Carver’s and held them. Carver’s mouth went dry, not wanting to look away, not sure what to say next. 

“Never happened though,” he finally blurted out, wanting to break the sudden tension. “We got the money for the Deep Roads and I guess you know the rest. Here I am.” 

“For what it’s worth, I think you’d have made a wonderful Templar.” Alistair smiled at him, and Carver’s heart felt like it was going to beat right out of his chest. “If the Order was full of people like you, it'd be a much better place I’m sure, for mages and for the Templars themselves.” 

Carver’s cheeks felt hot. He wasn’t used to people being so complimentary. And he’d never told anyone else what he’d been thinking for fear of how they would react. 

“Of course I am very glad you ended up here as a Warden,” Alistair continued. “The Wardens are lucky to have you too.” 

“Thank you,” he said, trying to mask his flattered embarrassment with a cough and hoping Alistair didn’t notice. “And thank you for answering.” 

“You’re welcome!” Alistair beamed at him, one of those big happy smiles that lit up everything around him. “If there’s anything else you want to know, you’re always welcome to ask that too. Warden stuff, Templar life, my encyclopaedic knowledge of cheese, those interesting looking moles on my back… anything, any time.”

“Thank you.” He returned Alistair’s smile, a little more shy than Alistair’s but with just as much sincerity. He also tried not to think about those moles, what they must look like, what it would feel like to trace between them, explore the rest of his back as well… 

He coughed, reaching for the cards again, ready to deal the next round and distract himself from those thoughts. Part way through the round though, he had another thought, one unrelated to what Alistair may look like with less clothing. 

“Do you still use the Templar skills? The disrupting spells and stuff?” 

Alistair nodded. 

“Sometimes. Comes in quite useful with some of those big scary magic wielding Darkspawn.” He lifted his hands up in a crude imitation of claws, following his words with a fake roar. 

Carver laughed. 

“Could you teach somebody? Like me?” He asked hesitantly, not sure if it was a silly question or if it was even something that was an option. 

Alistair though for a moment.

“I could try,” he said. “The Chantry wouldn’t be happy but I’m sure they’ll find some way to cope. Not everyone can actually _do_ it but there’s only one way to find out.”

Carver smiled at him gratefully. 

“Thank you,” he said. “We have a game to get back to though. I was kicking your ass and I want to finish."

*

It proved easier than expected to pick up some of the skills Alistair was teaching. The opportunity to spend even more time with Alistair was just an added bonus, one Carver had not even considered when he first asked. 

It was difficult to know how efficient the skills would be when faced with real magic, but it felt reassuring to know he might be able to do something. A bit of insight into Templar abilities and what his family could potentially face was reassuring was another bonus. 

And Carver would be lying if the idea of using some of them on his brother when he was being a pain in the ass wasn’t appealing. 

“I think that’s all for today,” Alistair said at the end of one of these sessions. He flopped down onto the ground, leaning against a tree with a yawn. “You’re doing well.”

“It’s easy when I have a good teacher.”

“Well it’s easy to be a good teacher when I have such an excellent student,” Alistair said with a wink.

“I know a lot of people who’d probably disagree,” Carver said, trying to hide the smile on his face at the thought. It became easier to hide when he realised some of those people were his commanding officers in the army, people who had died at Ostagar, who he hadn’t been able to protect, and his face fell slightly. 

“I’m sure my Templar trainers would agree with that assessment about me. Probably some of the Wardens who trained me too.” 

Alistair’s expression became slightly less cheerful too and Carver wondered if he was having similar thoughts about the loss of the Wardens from his past. 

“I, um, I have something for you,” Alistair said, reaching for the pack he’d brought with him that afternoon. He swore softly under his breath as he rummaged through it, trying to find whatever it was. Carver hoped that Alistair was too busy looking to notice the tiny smile that crept onto his face at the idea of a gift - a gift! - from him.

Carver could tell when he found it from the triumphant noise Alistair made. He sat back where he’d started, facing Carver as he held out the small package, wrapped in a piece of cloth. There was a weight to it, more than Carver expected, and he weighed it thoughtfully in his hand as he tried to think about what it could possibly be. They hadn’t been near any kind of settlement in a little while so he didn’t know where Alistair could have gotten it. 

It had been a while since he’d received a gift. Bethany had always been the driving force behind gifts in the Hawke family, for birthdays, for Satinalia. Her enthusiasm was - or had been - infectious. In the year since her death, the family enthusiasm had faded. Satinalia had been hard without her energy and excitement for every aspect and he hadn’t even wanted to acknowledge their shared birthday. Was it still shared when she no longer aged with him each year?. 

He realised he was still staring blankly at the package in his hand, having made no move to open it. 

“You don’t have to open it now,” Alistair said hastily. “Or keep it. I just thought…”

“No!” His voice was louder than he intended and he made a conscious effort to lower it. “No, thank you. I just… Bethany used to always give me things like this.” 

Before he had time to dwell on that, to avoid the look of sympathy that flashed into Alistair’s, he pulled the fabric wrapping aside, holding the object inside up to better see. 

“A statuette?” he asked. He liked it but he wasn’t sure why Alistair had chosen to give it to him. 

“A stone warrior. Ellas gave it to me during the Blight.” Unless Carver was mistaken, Alistair was blushing slightly as he spoke. “I’ve had it ever since.” 

“I can’t take this,” Carver said, fingers running over the details of the stone carving. It was beautiful and he felt like he could spend hours examining all the intricate details. “Not if it’s special to you. I’d feel bad.”

“I want you to have it.” Alistair was definitely blushing now. “I always thought he looked very strong and brave and he makes me think of you. I like the idea of you having it.”

Carver felt his own cheeks flush too, his heart skipping a beat at Alistair’s kind words. Strong and brave? Him?

Even just the idea that Alistair was thinking about him when he wasn’t there made him feel like he had butterflies in his stomach. 

“Besides,” Alistair continued. “You’re special to me too. I wouldn’t be offering otherwise and I like sharing things with people who are special to me.”

Carver’s hands closed around the figure, clutching it close against him as he tried to swallow down a new lump in his throat, one that had formed for entirely different reasons to the earlier one. His heart felt like it might beat right out of his chest. 

“Thank you,” he said. “I’ll make sure it's special to me as well.”

_Like you are. You’re special to me as well._

Once again, he couldn’t bring himself to say anything more, afraid he might disclose something more, that his feelings might spill out and ruin things with Alistair. 

“It’s probably silly but I hope you like it,” Alistair said. Carver felt he knew him well enough to detect a nervous hint in his tone and he hoped his responding smile was reassuring, that it conveyed even a little of how much the gesture meant. 

“I love it,” he said. “I’m going to put it somewhere safe. Do you mind?”

“Course not,” Alistair said and Carver headed for his tent. 

Inside the tent though, he paused, looking at his pack. He could put it in there, where it would be safe, stored, out of the way where he wouldn’t use it but… 

The figurine slipped neatly into the pouch on his belt, sitting firmly against his leg. He could feel it when he pressed his hand against it and he smiled. He liked the idea of it being there, close to him, reminding him of Alistair. Reminding him that Alistair thought he was brave, saw him as a warrior.

He felt like he may be carrying it for a while. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look I absolutely love Alistair's rose scene but also the whole "beautiful, rare thing found among the darkness" didn't really seem to fit Carver or the non-Blight setting sooo this was my alternative :3
> 
> I also have a lot of Thoughts about templar!Carver, I've been planning a Hawke and Templar!Carver argument oneshot since before I even thought of this one but I haven't gotten there yet!
> 
> Thank you again to anyone who's been supportive in anyway, comments, kudos, reblogs etc <3 <3


	5. Chapter 5

The Warden party was on the move given the increasingly declining Darkspawn activity in the area. Alistair had written to the Warden-Commander and the decision had been to return to one of the Warden strongholds. 

Days trekking through the forest were tiring but thankfully less exhausting than days trekking through the Deep Roads, and at least there were less Darkspawn around, less opportunities for injury. 

It gave them the opportunity to encounter more people too, ones who weren’t Wardens. The reaction they got was interesting and varied, some people clearly awed by their presence and some looking at though the group was bringing the Blight itself to their little communities, with every other reaction in between. 

Carver found Alistair outside one of these little villages one afternoon, dappled shadows dancing across his shoulders as he watched something happening in a field in front of him. 

“See anything interesting?” Carver asked, moving to stand beside him.

A family stood in Alistair’s view, the man preparing the ground for new crops as his children chased each other around the field. As Carver watched, a woman joined them, her belly large with a new child. She laughed at her children, the noise carrying clear and high through into the trees where Alistair and Carver stood. 

“Nothing important.” Alistair smiled at him before he turned to walk away but it didn’t have any of the same enthusiasm or warmth that his smiles normally held. 

“Hey, are you ok?” Carver said, hoping it wouldn’t annoy Alistair to be followed. Alistair paused, looking back at him. 

“Yep. Never better.” 

Carver raised an eyebrow at him and he sighed, turning to face him properly.

“Do you miss your family?” Alistair asked him and Carver took a deep breath, thinking.

“Sometimes,” he said, trying to be honest, not quite sure what Alistair was hoping to hear. “Bethany, all the time. Mother… it’s nice to have some more freedom but I do miss her. And Garrett, it really depends on the day. If I miss him too much, I just think about how annoying he can be sometimes.”

Despite his obvious amusement at the final comment, Alistair still looked like something was weighing on his mind. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Carver asked. He could offer, even if he didn’t know what ‘it’ was. 

With a deep breath, Alistair turned and sat on the ground. Carver joined him. He felt like they had ended up together like this a lot. It was growing more and more comfortable and familiar each time they did it. 

Alistair seemed to be good at talking about feelings, about prompting Carver when something was bothering him, knowing what to say to make him feel better. He was much,  _ much _ better at it than Carver was, but he owed it to Alistair to try and find the words to support him. 

“I never really had a family,” Alistair said after a moment. “Sometimes I think… what would it be like? To be part of a big, loving family?”

This wasn’t the kind of problem Carver was qualified to deal with. He was good at fighting things away, hitting them with a sword, not… talking about them. Bethany was always good at that, much better than he was. She was always the one who helped him find the words when he was arguing with Garrett, when something was bothering him.

He tried to imagine what she would say if she were sitting here. 

“What about… who raised you?” he asked. Probably not Bethany standard but it was a start at least. 

“The Arl of Redcliffe,” Alistair said with a crooked smile. “Or perhaps the dogs of Castle Redcliffe with a little assistance from the kennel master. I used to think he did his best - Eamon, that is, the arl - but now… I’m not so sure. I think I was more of an inconvenience than anything else, especially when I failed to be the puppet he hoped for. He was very frustrated when I didn’t accept the throne.”

“Should’ve tried to take it for himself then, instead of relying on you to do it for him,” Carver said. He didn’t know anywhere near enough about the throne of Ferelden to know if that was possible or would have worked but Alistair seemed amused by it at least. 

“When he married, his wife liked me even less. And then I ended up with the Templars and they didn’t like me much either.” He laughed but the sound was strained. “I was too noble for the commoner recruits and too common for the noble ones.” 

“They’re idiots, then,” Carver said. “And they missed out.” How could anyone who actually gave Alistair a chance possibly not want to spend time with him?

“Thank you.” He smiled at him. 

“Was it just you before then?” Carver asked. “No brothers or sisters?”

“Technically I had both,” Alistair said. “Half-siblings anyway. Not that I knew them, of course. I met Cailan once as a boy but nobody really wanted the king’s bastard son hanging around.”

Carver couldn’t help but feel a little silly. Of course Alistair had a brother. He was a Theirin after all, it was known across the whole of Ferelden that he was Cailan’s brother. The Hawkes may have left for the Free Marches early on in the Blight but news travelled and a second Theirin son had been very gossip worthy. 

Had King Marric had a daughter though? 

“I only really met him again at Ostagar,” Alistair said. “I kept walking past his tent, thinking I should just go and talk to him, properly, but… I never did. We only talked a few times, about Warden business. Never had a ‘hey I’m your brother, how have you been?’ And then…”

He didn’t need to finish. They never did when it came to Ostagar. Both of them knew what had happened, what it had been like. 

Alistair took a deep breath before he continued. 

“And my sister, she lived in Denerim. I met her during the Blight, after years of dreaming. Turns out she wasn’t the nicest lady. I can’t say I blame her, she’d spent years thinking I was dead and our mother died for nothing.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Carver said. He missed his sister, more than anything, but at at least he had her in his life for the time he did. It hurt to imagine not having that. 

As much as Garrett could drive him nuts sometimes, it hurt almost as much to imagine not having him. 

“I guess I never really had a place that felt like home till the Wardens, and even then Ellas and I had to rebuild that almost from scratch after....”

“You must be close,” Carver said. He hadn’t spent much time with the elf, the Warden-Commander leaving the camp shortly after Carver had joined, but he had seemed kind and genuine. And Carver couldn’t imagine going through the Blight with somebody without growing close - not that he knew all of the details of what it had been like. The stories were idealised, he was sure, and he had never wanted to push Alistair for more than he was willing to share. 

“He’s like my brother,” Alistair said. He laughed. “We probably needed a senior warden around sometimes, somebody to rein us in. The Blight wasn’t always serious, we had some fun times around the camp.” 

“Oh?” Carver asked, curious. The Warden-Commander had seemed quite solemn, serious.

“Oh, you know, a few drunken shenanigans every now and then,” Alistair said. “You can probably imagine, I’m sure there were similar nights around the army. I even kissed Ellas’ now husband a few times, before they were together of course, and then there’s the tattoo as well. 

Carver’s cheeks turned a little bit red at the idea of Alistair kissing somebody. He could kiss who he wanted, of course, but thinking about that, here, now, sitting next to him with Alistair so close when he’d spent so much time thinking about that… 

“Tattoo?” he asked instead, trying to force his thoughts to think about that and not Alistair’s lips. 

“A griffon,” Alistair said. “On my arm. Not a very detailed one, but I’m rather fond of it. Reminds me of the Wardens. Not that I could ever forget them, of course. I’ll show you some time when I’m not wearing so much armour to get rid of.” 

It was only marginally less distracting to think about Alistair’s arms, especially Alistair’s arms being significantly less covered. 

“I have one too,” Carver said. “A mabari. From the army. We got them for strength.”

“You’ll have to show me that some time too,” Alistair said, a little more of his usual energy in his smile. Carver imagined showing Alistair the dog he had tattooed on his chest, imagined Alistair looking at his chest, moving closer. Suddenly hyper aware of his own breathing, he tried to keep it steady, his heart racing under the tattoo. 

“I think the Wardens are your family,” Carver said, trying to change the subject, to distract himself from thoughts that were getting harder and harder to keep away. “Even if you didn’t grow up with them and we’re not related to you. They all care about you, a lot. You can tell. We  _ all _ care about you a lot.”

“I like to think so too,” Alistair said. “It’s nice to belong somewhere. Even if it does involve... well, irreversibly changing your body and routinely fighting horrendous creatures from the bowels of the earth itself.” 

“Well that’s one way to put it,” Carver laughed. Before he’d joined the Wardens, the joke probably would have seemed macabre and while it still was, he’d discovered that kind of joke was common among his fellow Wardens. Probably some kind of coping mechanism. If you thought too much about it, it was enough to drive you mad.

“Thank you, Carv,” Alistair said, his hand moving to sit atop Carver’s, fingers lacing together as they rested on Carver’s leg. Carver’s heart felt like it was about to beat out of his chest as Alistair’s thumb slowly rubbed his hand. “It means a lot. Really.”

“You’re welcome.” His words came out louder than intended, still trying to distract himself from the situation. Why did he have to be the idiot that fell in love with his new friend and brother in arms? “Well, should we go? The others are probably wondering where we are.”

He pulled his hand away, praying that Alistair wouldn’t interpret that as some kind of disgust or reluctance to be close to him. Why was it so hard to deal with people? 

They didn’t talk much as they returned to the rest of the Wardens, heading back past the family in their field, the children playing, their father at work, but Carver’s thoughts were racing.

As Alistair walked in front of him, Carver’s eyes fixed on his arms, imagining what Alistair’s tattoo would look like, what his arms would look like. He had seen them before but not while he was really paying attention. 

He realised with a jolt there was a chance Alistair had already seen his tattoo.  _ Somebody _ had helped change his clothes those weeks ago when he had first joined the Wardens.  _ Somebody  _ had replaced his dirty, Darkspawn coated armour with a clean shirt. And given who had been there when he woke up, there was a good chance that somebody was Alistair, or at least that Alistair had been there. 

He was probably overthinking it, being silly, but the idea of Alistair indirectly asking to see his chest, to see something he’d already seen once again, was one that Carver held onto. 

  
* 

Carver had never been good at remembering dates. They had a habit of creeping up on him, and he’d suddenly realise something significant was about to happen or that it was somebody’s birthday. 

But even though he knew that, he was still angry at himself for nearly forgetting it was his mother’s birthday. 

The guilt of that compounded with the homesick feelings that dragged up left him feeling less than fantastic. 

The Wardens had camped outside a village and while Carver wasn’t the only Warden who’d taken advantage of the proximity of a tavern, he sat alone, nursing his drink and lost in his own thoughts. He’d been tempted to invite somebody else to join him, lingering outside Alistair’s tent, but he didn’t want to bring somebody else down with his sour mood. Especially somebody as full of sunshine as Alistair seemed to almost always be. 

And thinking about the feelings he had for Alistair, trying to ignore the way he felt around him… that didn’t feel like something that would make him feel any better. 

It wasn’t like Alistair had never seen him coping badly with something before, and it had never seemed to bother him before, but maybe seeing Carver grump around in his own miserable thoughts might be the last straw and he’d realise he didn’t want to spend more time around him.

He wondered if everyone back in Kirkwall was having a better time without him.

He wondered what his family would be doing. Had Garrett gotten control of the estate by now, the way they planned? Would they be having dinner in a big empty room, just a mother and the only child she had left with her? 

Would her birthday just be a reminder he was gone? Did they even care? 

He took a deep breath, finishing what remained in his mug and signalling for another. It had always taken him a while to feel the effects of alcohol, no doubt due to his size, but his head was starting to feel a little fuzzier now.

Maybe if he drank a bit more, he’d be able to stop thinking so much about everything. About his past. About Ostagar. His family. Alistair. 

“Is this seat empty?” somebody asked and Carver jumped, lost in his own thoughts.

Alistair. Of course he had found Carver here and now he’d have to deal with him being a grump anyway. 

“Go ahead,” he said, gesturing at the vacant spot. The sight of Alistair sent his heart fluttering in his chest, much like it normally did, but he wasn’t sure if it made him feel better or worse. “I hope you’re not looking for quality company though.”

“I grew up in the stables surrounded by horses and dogs,” Alistair said. “I’m used to questionable company. Although the animals sometimes made the Templar recruits look good, even in spite of the manure. Smelled better too, half the time.”

Carver couldn’t help but laugh. 

“Even with you around?” 

“Well. I smelled so bad they made me wash every day. Balanced it out a little.” Alistair grinned at him, his expression fading into a slightly more serious one. “Do you want to talk?” 

“No,” Carver said, hating how grumpy he sounded. Alistair didn’t seem to mind though and he was grateful for that. He wished he knew how Alistair always seemed so positive while he always seemed to default to being a stick in the mud.

Neither of them spoke for a moment, Alistair signalling a waitress for a drink. He didn’t talk until the drink was in front of him, an uncharacteristic amount of time for Alistair to be silent. 

“It’s always nice to be back to some kind of civilisation,” he said, “having actual walls, roofs, doors, all of those fancy things.” 

“Always a nice change,” Carver agreed, trying to pretend the tavern didn’t just remind him of the Hanged Man, of home and all the things he wanted to forget tonight. 

The waitress breezed past them, glancing over her shoulder at Alistair. She winked at him, something Alistair thankfully seemed to miss. Carver didn’t. He glared at her back as she walked away. 

“Alistair,” Carver said, hoping he wouldn’t regret the question he was about to ask. “In the Templars, did you ever… meet anyone?” 

“Oh I met lots of people. Every day was like ‘here’s a new person for you to meet Alistair. Don’t forget their name, they may take it personally and they will  _ definitely _ remember your name if you call them the wrong thing, and for none of the right reasons’.” 

Caver rolled eyes with a slight shake of his head. His amusement at Alistair wasn’t quite enough to fight off the bad mood but it did help. 

“You know what I mean,” he said, not sure if Alistair actually did. “Romantically.”  _ Or physically,  _ he wanted to add but he was already trying not to think of Alistair like that. Especially right now. Even if the idea was a very tempting one. 

“Ah,” Alistair said. “No, not romantically.”

“So have you ever…” Carver wanted to ask, as much as he was trying not to think about Alistair, to ignore his feelings, but he couldn’t finish the question. He felt like he was blushing. It wasn’t as though he had never discussed this before but then, maybe with Alistair it was different. 

“Ever what?” Alistair teased. “Ever seen a basilisk? Ate jellied ham? Licked a lampost in winter? 

“Ever learned how to shut your mouth?” 

Alistair always managed to look even cuter when he smiled and Carver focused on taking a deep breath through his nose, trying to ignore the sparkle in Alistair’s eyes. 

“But the answer is no. I’ve kissed a few people but never anything… more. Never had the opportunity.” His eyes met Carver’s, the amused expression less apparent now. They were such a lovely shade of brown. “Maybe I just haven’t met the right person yet.” 

Carver took a hasty mouthful of his drink, trying not to choke on the liquid as he did his best to ignore the butterflies filling his stomach. Was he imagining things or was Alistair closer than he had been a moment ago?

“How about you?” Alistair asked. “Ever… licked a lamppost in winter?”

Alistair was definitely closer now. Carver licked his lips, wishing his mouth wasn’t so dry as he took another mouthful of ale, emptying the mug. He could go and get another, use that as a distraction, but he didn’t want to. 

He shook his head. 

“The same,” he said, thinking back to the boy in the barn, his friend in Lothering, the fellow soldier he had almost spent the night with. He’d heard she made it out ok, although you could say the same about him and sometimes he didn’t feel like it. 

He felt like there was no way he was imagining Alistair leaning closer, but maybe he was mistaken. Maybe he was reading into it because it was something he wanted. 

“I’m sure you’ll find the right person eventually,” he said. “And they’ll be lucky to find you.” 

Alistair was so close Carver could almost feel his breath, see the freckles on his skin, the flecks of gold in his eyes. How soft his lips looked. 

His breath caught in his throat. 

He couldn’t help it. 

His heartbeat pounding in his ears, he leaned forward, crossing the ever shrinking distance between them, and kissed him, the lightest touch of his lips against Alistair’s.

The touch was followed by a second one, one that lingered gently, only for a moment but long enough to make Carver feel like his heart was going to burst. 

He realised he’d closed his eyes and opened them, focusing once again on Alistair’s face. 

The face that showed a look of wide eyed shock as he looked at Carver. 

Carver’s breath caught in his throat for an entirely different reason. What had he been thinking? Of course Alistair wasn’t talking about  _ him _ . 

“I’m sorry,” he blurted, pulling back from Alistair. “I shouldn’t have. That was a mistake.” 

He tried not to stumble as he pushed himself to standing - he didn’t want to make himself look like even more of an idiot than he already had. 

“I’m sorry,” he repeated. 

As he fled the room, not wanting to deal with the inevitable rejection, he thought he heard Alistair call his name. But Carver was already gone, doing his best to disappear into the night away from Alistair, before Alistair could tell him he’d ruined everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first part originally wasn’t in there but I wanted that ending to this chapter and it was too short 😇 plus I wanted to have a “Carver supporting Alistair” focus as well because there was a lot of “Alistair supporting Carver” so far and I think they’d mutually support each other <3 I did manage to forget for a while that Alistair had a brother though, not like that’s a big key canon plot point or anything 😳
> 
> ANYWAY next chapter is almost finished so hopefully you won’t have to wait too long 💕


	6. Chapter 6

Carver had never been to this village before and yet it felt just like Lothering, the home that no longer existed, at least not in the way he remembered. He tried to remember the way back to the camp as he hurried past buildings that were both familiar and unfamiliar, not wanting to get lost on top of everything else. 

He’d walked past the blacksmith on the way to the tavern, right? Was that the blacksmith over there? 

Behind him, Alistair called his name, the sound echoing between the building, loud in the dark. He called again and Carver wondered if he could pretend he hadn’t heard, that he couldn’t hear the footsteps getting closer. 

When Alistair grabbed his arm, halting him in his path, he took a deep breath before he turned back to face him, face what he had done. 

“Carver,” Alistair repeated and Carver wondered how long it would be till he said anything else. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, wishing he could be anywhere but here. One impulsive decision could have ruined everything. “I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry.” He did his best to avoid looking at Alistair, his eyes fixed firmly on the ground. He couldn’t look at him. Not right now. 

“Why not?” 

The silence seemed to stretch forever. Surely Alistair wasn’t going to make him spell out all the reasons it had been a bad idea,  _ why  _ he was sorry? Something touched his shoulder, gently. Alistair’s hand lingering where it rested, his other hand still grasping Carver’s wrist. 

“Carver,” he said. “Does it help if… if I told you I liked it? Because I did. A lot, in fact.”

Carver finally looked at Alistair. He didn’t know how to describe the feeling growing in his chest, if he should let it keep growing or try to stop it in its path. He… liked it?

“I was hoping you would,” Alistair admitted and even in the dim light, Carver could see he was blushing. No doubt Alistair could see him blushing as well. “I’ve thought about it a lot anyway, but I don’t exactly know how to… well, tell somebody you want to kiss them. What do you even do? Walk up to them and say ‘hello I’d like to kiss you please’ and hope for the best?”

Carver couldn’t stop the grin from creeping across his face, couldn’t tear his eyes away from Alistair’s face. 

“I would’ve said yes,” he said, although in reality if Alistair had walked up to him and said that, he wasn’t sure what he’d have done. Shut down, perhaps, as his brain melted? 

“Well then.” Alistair was already close but he stepped forward again, moving into Carver’s space like he had earlier. With anyone else it would have been uncomfortably close but Carver found himself stepping even closer.

“Well then,” he said. “Carver Hawke, I would very much like to kiss you, please.”

“Yes,” Carver breathed and then he was kissing Alistair again, kissing him but the time he knew it wasn’t a mistake, that Alistair wanted to kiss him, that he’d been thinking about kissing him just like Carver had thought about kissing Alistair.

A tiny voice whispered that if he’d been less of a coward and talked to Alistair,  _ tried  _ talking instead of ignoring how he felt… maybe he could have kissed Alistair sooner. But now, in the moment, when he was kissing the man he’d dreamed about for what felt like so long, he couldn’t bring himself to care about what ifs. All that mattered was Alistair, under his lips, his hands. 

Alistair pressed close against Carver, a solid steady weight against him, and Carver sighed against his lips, just enjoying the feeling of him.

Then he winced slightly as Alistair put pressure on the stone figure he still carried in his pocket, the one Alistair had given him, that he’d carried with him ever since. It hurt where it pressed into his leg, caught between him and Alistair, but he didn’t want Alistair to stop. He could ignore that. 

Alistair, however, apparently noticed it, pulling back with the faintest hint of a frown. 

“What  _ is _ that?” he asked, confused. 

Carver blushed as he reached into the pouch on his belt, pulling out the figurine. It was easier to show Alistair than to find the word to explain it, to stumble awkwardly through them. 

Alistair frowned at it in dim light, eyes widening in recognition as he processed the object in Carver’s hand. 

“Is that…?” 

“I like having it with me,” Carver admitted. “It’s comforting. It reminds me of you. And you make me feel safe so…” His words trailed off, cheeks burning so hot he felt like he must almost be glowing. It was only slightly comforting to see that Alistair was also blushing. 

He cleared his throat, hoping Alistair would say something, save him from having to find the words to continue.

“It’s probably silly,” he said, but Alistair was smiling. 

“I’m absolutely flattered,” he said. “It means.. It means a lot that you like it that much, I carried with me for a week before I gave it to you. Oh no Alistair, don’t give him that, my brain would say. He won’t like that. But… you did like. And that much.”

“Alistair,” Carver said, his heart feeling like it was ready to burst. He didn’t say anything else. Instead, he leaned forward to kiss Alistair again, partly because he knew Alistair babbled when he was nervous and he seemed  _ very _ nervous and partly because he desperately wanted to. Now that he knew it was an option, that Alistair would be receptive to Carver kissing him… he couldn’t imagine ever stopping. 

He hadn’t ruined things. He hadn’t ruined everything by kissing Alistair and Alistair wanted to kiss him back,  _ was _ kissing him back, and his lips were softer than Carver could have possibly imagined. Alistair’s hair was soft under his hands, his body solid against him. He finally knew what it was like to kiss him and his heart felt so full he thought it might burst. 

* 

The walls of the Warden stronghold rose high in the air as the party rounded the corner, finally coming within view of the buildings. Carver paused where he stood, taking a moment to look in awe. 

“Are you ready to see how the Wardens live when we’re not confined to tiny little tents?” Alistair asked, stopping beside him. 

“Depends,” Carver said, “will you be there?” 

“Of course.” Alistair beamed at him. “Just watch them try and drag me away from you.” 

Carver reached for Alistair’s hand, giving it a quick squeeze. He tried unsuccessfully to keep the smile from his face, the smile that seemed to be there so often since the night he had kissed Alistair, since Alistair had kissed him and with everything that had come since.

“Will the Warden-Commander be here? You’ll get to see him again?” Carver asked and Alistair nodded, his excitement and enthusiasm apparent. The more Alistair talked about the elf, the clearer it was that he missed his company.

Carver would be lying if he said he wasn’t excited to better get to know somebody so important to Alistair.

“Will he… care? About us?” he asked nervously. Surely he wouldn’t have a problem with their growing relationship but… what if he did? What if being back here came between them now that they were both finally pursuing this. 

Alistair snorted. 

“During the Blight, he recruited an assassin trying to take our lives and ended up marrying him, he’s in no position to judge.” He laughed even more at the shocked expression on Carver’s face at his words. “Ask him to tell you the story some time, he’ll be  _ more  _ than willing, trust me. But I think he’ll just be happy for me. Happy for us.”

Carver’s hand tightened around Alistair’s with another squeeze as Alistair turned to face him. 

“Are you happy?” he asked and Alistair squeezed his hand right back. 

“I couldn’t be happier,” he said, leaning forward to give Carver a quick kiss. Carver followed his lips as he pulled away, drawing the kiss out longer. “Should we go?”

And so, with a nod and with Alistair by his side, the pair of them walked hand in hand, following the rest of the Wardens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to wait another few days to post this but I realised if I posted it today, it'd have a finish date of 20/9/29 and that's a satisfying number of 2s and 9s so......
> 
> I hope you enjoy it, I absolutely hate writing endings ahh. But I've loved writing about these two and I'm definitely going to be still thinking about them and hopefully writing more in the future <3 <3
> 
> Thank you to everyone for reading and everything and [feel free to come and yell at or with me on tumblr](https://kirkwallgremlin.tumblr.com) :D


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